Equinox

Consider the equinox. Sun directly overhead, day time equal to night time. Things in balance.

What perfume to wear for such an occasion? Do we bring in those which continue a balance throughout their development? Or which turn equally from one extreme to another, as our day will turn to our night today?

Balanced presentation throughout: Lancome Magie Noire, which continues a steady if subdued rose underneath is animalistic veneer. Armani Pierre de Lune, which keeps the violet and lightly metallic whiff of green going throughout. L'Artisan Fleur de Narcisse, which keeps the tobacco and hay going against narcissus and leather throughout the run.

Turn arounds: L'Artisan Poivre Piquant, which starts as a sharp peppery single note on me, and transitions into a creamy blended skin scent. If you've been reading for a while, you already know that SIP Black Rosette goes here. Molinard Habanita, which continually bounces back and forth between gently fruity floral and tobacco on me--which I guess means multiple turn arounds, so it is good for a few revolutions.

I'm not ready to vote one approach more correct than the other; after all, it's important to maintain a balanced view of these things. But if you've got additions to either list, I'm all--erm, half--ears.

Event Scent vs. How I Want to Smell

I'm exploring the idea of categorizing perfumes in one of two columns:  In column A, Event Scent.  In Column B, Me Scent.

Event scents are the ones whose mere presence is an event.  They are performers.  They make you pay attention.  Not because they slap you across the face (or smother it...can you hear me, beautiful but room only for you Fracas?), but because either through their development, or the way they transport you through memory and time, you find yourself paying attention to them instead of your environment.

I mentioned SIP Black Rosette the other day as one of those perfumes.  That's one in the development category; you find yourself ignoring everything else so you can follow its development.  Then there's En Passant, on my wrist as I write, transporting me to beautiful spring, gone now, on a day when I know fall will soon be gone, too.  There's Arpege, which not only has a development event, it goads my musician self into seeing if I can identify intervals.  And there's any number of I Hate Perfume iterations, but I'll refer to Black March, because it gobsmacks me into the middle of one of my pots when I'm out with the terracota, dirt, and flats of plants on a spring day.  (I know other people get earth dirt, but I get potting soil, all the way.  Love it.)  

Opposite the Event Scent is how I want to smell.  Not simply an amplification of my own "au naturel," as it were, but a scent that extends me.  What was that line about "making me more than I am?"  There's Parfumerie Generale L'Ombre Fauve.  I could disappear into that one myself, a delicious creamy musk that is ever so slightly sweet on me.  Leather you lick.  Also from PG, Bois Blond.  That makes me feel like I'm wearing a little bit of my favorite patch of forest.  I know, not a direct association.  It's not a Christopher Brosius creepily on target re-creation.  It is an impression, and I like the way it smells, and the way it smells on me.  And then there's L'Artisan Fleur de Narcisse, which never lets you settle into thinking it's "pretty," but is a beautiful trip through a true narcissus, and hay, and what not.  Compositions, these are, in every sense of the word.

Unfortunately, this event scent/my smell duality leaves me with a few knots.  What, for example, to do with my Chanel loves?  Bois des Iles.  (Sighs.)  This is gorgeous, but I both get caught up in smelling it as wanting to smell of it.  Those aldehydes draw attention.  They're a bit showy.  They live on their own.  This means it is not a "what I want to smell like" perfume, but a "what I want you to smell on me" perfume.  There are others:  Bel Respiro.  Amarige.  (Actually, I think you could put white florals in general in this category, as far as I am concerned.)  And bridging the gap between:  Lancome Magie Noire.

Shalimar?  I love to smell it, and love to smell it on me, but I harbor no illusions that it is a part of me.  Event Scent.  Musc Samarkind?  Gently sweet, but a hint of animal that rides close to my skin and makes me double check every time I sniff.  Me Scent.  

Pondering....

Perfumes that Have Rocked My Boat: SIP Black Rosette

First sets of samples were in hand.  Collections of violets, roses; an introduction to perfume types.  It was Day #2 for me.  I thought I’d venture into roses first; not so sweet as violets, I imagined; not as serious as a Perfume 101-type review.

But I wanted something...not fussy.  Not old-fashioned.  And not single note.  (Oooh, see how I already was incorporating lingo?  “Single note.”  Cool.)  I pondered the names.  One appealed:  Black Rosette.

Would it be dark?  Smokey?  Tea rose, because that’s were you find the dark flowers?  Open vial, apply wand...

Uff-dah!  What in the world was THAT?  Chemicals?  That sure wasn’t a rose.  Double check the vial.  Yup, “Black Rosette.”  Sniff wrist.  Whoa, that is wild...it’s riding high up in my nose, it definitely has a ...what in the world? acetone? something burning? something in between... smell.  Maybe the decanter made a mistake.  Maybe it turned.  But you know what’s weird?  I’m sniffing my wrist again.  Not only am I trying to figure out what this is, I’m kinda liking it.

And I kept sniffing, trying to figure out what was going on, amused that I was sort of enjoying it.  Then the most amazing thing happened.  A rose started peeking through.  And to this gardener’s nose, a beautiful rose; like a gallica.  Sniff again.  Something’s happening, and I can trace the progress IN MY NOSE.  I read, I watch films, I listen to the radio...but I have never had character development happen entirely in the realm of scent.  Here it comes...the chemical-ly smell was nearly gone, and a relatively simple--but not one note--rose was in front of me. 

An extraordinary moment of comprehension.  It was as if somebody were whispering in my ear ("development/dry down/top notes/bottom notes"), even as the molecules poured past my receptors.  I was like Helen Keller with her hand under the pump and Annie furiously signing w-a-t-e-r.  Perfume can do this?  

Bring me back.  I want some more.